


The Ash Tree

by KasumiAFKGod



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Not Beta Read, but yolo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8434231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KasumiAFKGod/pseuds/KasumiAFKGod
Summary: I told my love to run, but he ran towards death instead.





	

_ “RUN!” _

 

Jesse’s final, desperate cry still rings in his ears, drowning out the blood pounding in his head and the thunderous footfalls as Hanzo sacrifices stealth for speed. Ragged breaths heave past cracked lips, blood blinding his left eye where it streams down his face from a cut at his temple. Every muscle burns, every bone aches, the weariness seeping into his body and weighing it down. Even his trusty bow is a dead weight in his hands, near useless from a quiver long since empty, but he refuses to relinquish it. Refuses to stop. Keeps running, fleeing.

 

Because to stop meant Jesse gave his life for nothing.

 

The rapid footsteps of the Talon squad beat louder against his eardrums like a war drum, the men drawing closer and gaining. His left arm hangs uselessly at his side, fingers twitching, the dragons burning his skin from overuse. With neither the magic of his clan nor arrows at his disposal, Hanzo knows the outcome of this scenario. He is no fool.

 

Stopping at the end of an alley, Hanzo turns, breathless, intending to face death in the eye. Shadows roil as the Talon squad rounds the corner, a dozen men flooding into the narrow passageway. Hanzo almost laughs—if he had even half as many arrows, these men would be easy pickings. But as it was, he had just lost Jesse. And now he, Hanzo Shimada, would lose his life at the hands of common lowlifes. He bristles at Jesse’s killers, preparing himself for close quarters combat, but knowing he’ll be gunned down before he could advance two paces.

 

So be it.

 

_ “Ryuujin no ken wo kurae!” _

 

The flash of green appears from above, dropping from the roof of the building onto the Talon squad like a vengeful spirit. The men scream, raising their rifles and redirecting their aim, but Genji is faster. With two quick strokes, he lops off the heads of four, a slash through the air cutting across the bodies of another two. In the instant it takes for the remaining half of the squad to adapt to Genji’s appearance, a deafening blast from a rocket takes out the two at the back, the final ones downed by another rocket from Pharah’s arsenal.

 

Immediately, all is quiet.

 

“ _ Anija! _ ”  

 

Genji bounds over and is at his side in an instant. The green glow from his cybernetics reflect off Hanzo’s skin, washing it a sickly green. Hanzo looks at the green tinting the blue of his dragons, transfixed, before a hand on his shoulder draws his attention away.

 

“ _ Anija _ , are you all right?” Genji tilts his head slightly to the side, the way he always used to do when he was puzzled by something. “Where is Jesse? The last we heard him, he was with you. Did you get separated?”

 

Something is stuck in Hanzo’s throat, preventing him from speaking. And even if he could, Hanzo is not sure if the necessary words would come. All he can do is give Genji a blank look.

 

He understands.

 

“No,” Genji breathes out, the whispered word almost lost to the robotics in his voice. The hand at his shoulder tightens. “No, it cannot be.”

 

A ragged, choked sob escapes Hanzo as his legs give out and he sinks to the floor, Genji crouching down with him. Dimly, he is aware of his brother exchanging urgent words with Pharah before the woman flies away. Genji speaks to him, but his words register only as meaningless sound. The hand at his shoulder never leaves.

 

When Pharah comms in to tell them that she found the body, Hanzo snatches out the earpiece as if it burned him.

 

\---

 

They bury him under a an old ash tree, high upon a cliff near the Gibraltar base where he liked to smoke or strum his battered guitar in the dusky hours. Only Overwatch agents attend his funeral, the only family he has left. The ratty old hat and outdated revolver that he loved so much goes into the coffin with him, but Hanzo takes the serape. His favourite red one. Mercy dresses him in his blue one instead. 

 

_ “You’re a pretty sentimental fella, ain’t cha?” _ he remembers Jesse saying when he sees the offerings Hanzo laid out before a makeshift shrine for his mother’s death anniversary.

 

All the same, he thinks Jesse wouldn’t have minded.

 

\---

 

Hanzo offers to pack up Jesse’s things alone. The others gave him pitying looks, Tracer offering to help, but Genji thankfully dissuades her. Packing up Jesse’s things would be torture for Hanzo, an admittance that the man was gone for good, but the idea of letting someone else do it is heinous.

 

The scents of tobacco and gunpowder hit his nose when he opens the door to Jesse’s room, just as they always have. Hanzo steps inside, wondering how long the smell would remain without the constant presence of its occupant as he looks around. 

 

The bed is unmade, covers wrinkled and carelessly flung to one side. The floor is clear save for a few dirty shirts thrown haphazardly into one corner. Various trinkets, old paperback books, and the odd ration bar pack the shelves full to bursting. A mess of tablets, ammo boxes, and half-empty cigar cartons weigh down the table, the standard issue computer shoved to the back and left on a screensaver of a cartoon dragon with its head on fire.

 

Everything is just as Jesse had left it, looking like he could come back at any moment and fling yet another dirty shirt in the corner.

 

Hanzo steps closer to the table, interest captured by a conspicuous space cleared of clutter by the corner. A carefully folded strip of golden fabric lies in the centre.

 

He picks it up, fingers trailing through the familiar silk. 

 

_ “By the way, Darlin’. Thought you’d like to know that you left one of your ribbon things in my room during your last, er, visit. Gonna come over after the mission and pick it up?” _

 

When Hanzo is finally done packing up the room and leaving the boxes out in the corridor for Winston to put into storage later, the room is bare, devoid of his personal effects, the computer moved back to its customary position. The room betrays nothing, no trace that the man had ever existed, the life he had led. Nothing except for the strip of golden silk on the empty desk and the lingering scent of tobacco and gunpowder in the air.

 

\---

 

Fletching sweeps his cheek as Hanzo lets the arrow fly. It cuts the air, slicing a swift path to the target board where it joins its fellows and sinks itself inches into the centre with a dull thud.

 

_ “Pretty handy with that bow.” _

 

Silence envelopes him where words and an appreciative whistle once touched his ears. Now there is nothing but the dying reverberations of the arrow in the otherwise empty practice range.

 

Hanzo stands, closing the distance to the target and yanks his arrows back out. The gentle clatter of the arrows shafts in his fist fills the quiet, gives him something else to listen to other than that deafening silence. He grips them tighter, the fiberglass whining in protest but holding.

 

The doors to the practice range slide open, and Hanzo looks up to see Genji enter

 

“Would you mind if I joined you,  _ anija? _ ”

 

Considering Genji for a moment, Hanzo shakes his head and busies himself resuming his position.

 

“Do as you wish.”

 

Genji says nothing in the next two hours that they practice together, but his presence is better than the obvious absence of someone else who should be there. They retire for dinner afterwards, where Junkrat manages to set fire to the potatoes for a third time that month and Tracer upsets the tureen of gravy reaching over to thump Lucio on the back when he chokes on a too-big mouthful of grilled chicken.

 

Life went on without Jesse McCree, but Hanzo felt like he was no longer living it so much as he was just existing at its sidelines.

 

\---

 

Far away from civilisation, the Gibraltar base is blessed with night skies full of twinkling stars that make midnights bright even without the moon to oversee their presence. Lying with his back on the cool grass not far from Jesse’s simple gravestone, Hanzo gazes up at them and maps out the constellations Jesse had taught him before. A conversation that happened months ago, but he still remembers every word exchanged like it happened the night before.

 

_ “What’s home like for you?” _

 

He remembers describing the beauty of Hanamura, of Shimada Castle atop the hill with her array of cherry blossom trees raining gentle pink in the spring and the crisp clear air in the quiet of the morning.

 

But now, he finds himself thinking of the scent of burnt tobacco, the comforting hold of a pair of mismatched arms, and the scratchiness of a scruffy beard on his cheek and grinning lips on his.

 

Now, he is without either.

 

\---

 

_ “Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!” _

 

The twin dragons burst forth, exploding from his skin and surging towards Talon’s forces with matching roars that shake the earth. There is no running from a dragon once they have scented their enemies, and they bear down on the men in an instant. Their fury drowns out the screams of the damned, flesh seared from bones as the dragons seek more Talon blood.

 

And more.

 

Instead of disappearing, the dragons turn in midair, diving upon another Talon strike team attempting to flank Reinhardt’s side. He hears Genji’s voice, yelling at him to control them, draw them back. But Hanzo watches on, letting them wreak their carnage. The dragons hunger. Hunger for more Talon deaths. 

 

And  _ more _ .

 

Amidst the roars of the dragons, the screams of dying Talon men and Genji’s calls threatening to tear his eardrums apart, they still aren’t enough to drown out Jesse’s voice.

 

_ “The hell are you doin’ waitin’ for me? I said run!” _

 

_ “Just go, God damn it!” _

 

_ “RUN!” _

 

Hanzo falls to his knees, crumpled like a broken man as he throws his hands over his head to keep it from bursting. Too loud. Too loud. He can’t think. Can’t think beyond the desperate, despairing pitch in Jesse’s voice as he left behind the man he claimed to love like the coward he was—

 

A green dragon bursts into existence, surging towards his rampaging twin brothers with a roar of his own. Green and blue collide, roiling in a mass of scales and fangs before with a final burst of light and echoing bellow, all three fade back into dormancy.

 

“What are you _ doing, anija? _ ”

 

Hanzo looks up to see Genji marching towards him, shoulders set in that stiff way that meant he was holding back his temper. He doesn’t remember seeing his brother this angry since they were young men.

 

“You should know better than to lose control of the dragons like that! You  _ are _ better! You of all people should know—”

 

A mechanical hand on Genji’s shoulder halts him like a brick wall, the cyborg glancing over his shoulder to see Zenyatta hovering behind him, holding him back.

 

“Peace, Genji,” says the omnic monk. “Leave your brother be. At least, for now.”

 

Genji seems to struggle with himself for a moment before he relents, shoulders dropping almost imperceptibly.

 

“Yes, Master. Please excuse me.”

 

With a curt bow, Genji turns and heads towards the team gathering the Talon supply drop they’d successfully intercepted. Zenyatta remains in place, regarding Hanzo with tranquil consideration despite Hanzo keeping his eyes fixed on the floor, feeling the dragons writhing restlessly beneath his screaming skin.

 

“I understand not the ways of your clan’s dragons,” says Zenyatta. “But guilt can humble the self as well as consume it. See that you do not let it rule you.”

 

Hanzo wonders if it isn’t already too late for that.

 

\---

 

He begins undertaking more solo missions, increasingly dangerous ones. He lets the dragons rage when he knows he shouldn’t, letting them devour entire platoons of men or any opponent who so much as breathed at him wrong. He takes risks he would once have exercised caution, charges in head first into situations where he would normally have devised tactics around

 

Yet, not one of his enemies ever came close to killing him.

 

Hanzo wonders if that’s disappointment he feels crooking at the edge of his stomach every time he comes back alive.

 

\--- 

 

_ “Darlin’? Hey, get your ass up. I got somethin’ to show ya.” _

 

Groaning, Hanzo sits up, feeling as if he’d only just closed his eyes.

 

_ “C’mon, sweetheart. A man ain’t got all day.” _

 

“Jesse?” Hanzo rubs the drowsiness from his eyes, sitting up and blinking blearily in the direction of the achingly familiar voice. He makes out the swish of a red serape disappearing through the open door of his quarters before he’s on his feet and stumbling after it, not stopping to even put on his shoes.

 

“Jesse, wait!”

 

_ “Hurry up, partner. You getting old on me, or somethin’?” _

 

Hanzo follows the jingle of spurs, always a few paces too far, spying the occasional flash of red rounding a corner. They make their way through the base, encountering no one else. The halls are empty, the corridors devoid of people and eerily silent as if there was no one else living here at all.

 

Pushing past the main doors, Hanzo finds himself outside under the watchful gaze of the millions of stars. The night is clear, allowing the full moon to shine her radiance down on the earth and light up the night in silvery white. Glancing around for a sign of a red serape or cowboy hat, Hanzo begins to despair when he sees nothing.

 

Then his ears pick up faint words carried by a whisper of the wind and he takes off in their direction, already knowing where it would lead him.

 

The grave at the base of the tree lies open, earth turned to the sides and half-rotted wood of the coffin in splinters at the bottom of the hole. Jesse stands at the edge of the cliff, smoking a cigar and watching the stars. He turns when he hears Hanzo approach, and Hanzo feels his heart thump in his throat when he sees that gruff smile again. The one Jesse kept just for him.

 

_ (“RUN!”) _

 

“Jesse….” Hanzo swallows, struggling to find his voice. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

 

Jesse chuckles, and Hanzo is struck with how much he misses that sound.  _ “Would take a lot more than a few lowlife grunts to keep me down.” _

 

_ (“What are you doing? Just leave me and go!”) _

 

Jesse extends his arms, beckoning, and Hanzo can’t find it in himself to deny him. “ _ C’mere, Dar— _ ”

 

“HANZO!”

 

Eyes flying open, Hanzo awakes to water pelting his face and soaking through his sleep clothes. Lightning cracks across the roiling sky, followed closely by booming thunder as the wind howls and cuts through his dripping clothes, slicing at freezing skin. He blinks the rain out of his eyes, turning around, only to have hands grasp his forearms and yank him backwards. His bare feet slip on the mud and grass, toes briefly grazing the cliff’s edge before he stumbles back upright. The hands at his arms don’t let go.

 

“What the  _ hell _ , Hanzo?!” yells Tracer, the glowing blue of her chronal accelerator lit up her sodden face from below, giving her a sinister appearance. “What the hell was that? You almost  _ died! _ ”

 

“I….” Hanzo blinks, glancing back to the cliff. There is no one there. Another glance at the grave proves that it is undisturbed, grass long grown over the mound of earth covering the coffin six feet below. Fingers digging into biceps bring his attention back to Tracer, her usually spiky hair plastered to her head. A frown pinches her features where a beaming smile is usually worn. It doesn’t look right on her.

 

She says something else, but her words are lost to the explosive crack of thunder, a lightning bolt arcing through the raging sky and sizzling the air.

 

Still, Hanzo thinks he can hear the stains of Jesse’s voice in that ridiculous accent in the howling of the wind.

 

_ “Always were a stubborn one. Ain’t right, Darlin’?” _

 

\---

 

Running, he’s running again. Always running. The scene painfully echoes the one from a year ago; Hanzo fleeing, almost flying across the earth, his left arm burning and a platoon of Talon agents close behind him.

 

The base had been compromised, Talon forces already infiltrating Gibraltar before they’d realised what was going on. Hanzo offered to act as distraction while Winston and Tracer evacuated everyone, giving no room for argument as he stalked out of the briefing room with his bow at the ready. 

 

He’d left Jesse behind once. He isn't about to do that again.

 

The night is clear and bright, full of stars and in the presence of the waning moon as Hanzo tracks an all-too-familiar path up the hill. The chilly midnight air turns his breaths into puffs of mist, cool against his heated skin. Snatching another arrow from his quiver, he twists around and barely gives himself half a second to aim before firing. He resumes running before the arrow has even landed, not waiting to see if it would hit its mark. He hears the dull thunk of the arrowhead striking bone anyway, hears the dull thump of a body hitting the ground.

 

_ “Run!” _

 

Pain explodes in his shoulder as a gunshot goes off, the force of the impact almost sending him to the ground. Hanzo stumbles, but keeps moving. His familiarity of the terrain always keeping him just seven paces ahead.

 

He saw the transport leave ten minutes ago, and he’s ensured that all of Talon’s own planes are no longer flight-worthy. At least he can be sure that everyone else had gotten away safely. Genji was away on a mission in Numbani, and would not find out until later. He hopes his brother will forgive him one day.

 

The foliage of the ash tree at the edge of the cliff soon comes into view, a welcome sight that brings to mind once more the scent of tobacco.

 

_ “Leave me and go, you idiot!” _

 

He reaches the base of the tree, turning to notch another arrow and loose it. The arrowhead shatters where it strikes the boulder, the fragments ricocheting off and burying themselves in flesh as the men scream, a few dropping without a sound.

 

That was his last arrow.

 

_ “And don’t you dare come back for me if you know what’s good for you!” _

 

Hanzo stands tall, quiver empty, defiant even in the face of death. He lets his hand brush over the top of the gravestone like a lover’s caress, gentle as if it were living flesh before he steps back, his fingertips parting with the weathered granite. A final goodbye.

 

The remaining men step forward, eager for vengeance. He steps back. Ever closer to the edge.

 

_ “Didn’t you hear me? RUN!” _

 

He takes another step back. His right heel meets empty air as the earth at the edge of the cliff crumbles away, and Hanzo casts a glance over his shoulder. The drop is far, there is no question about what will happen if he falls from here to the jagged rocks and crashing ocean below.

 

He knows. Hanzo Shimada is no fool.

 

“Nowhere to go now, Shimada. Surrender.”

 

Looking up, he looks upon the ash tree, its green leaves turned silver in the starlight. Closes his eyes. Breathes.

 

He steps back.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song The Hanging Tree from the Mockingjay movie, particularly the cover done by Peter Hollens who is super awesome and whose work you should definitely check out!


End file.
